


Variation

by GlyphArchive



Category: Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Not A Fix-It, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlyphArchive/pseuds/GlyphArchive
Summary: Perhaps it is some unseen hand at play, or leftover guilt from a previous life that he doesn’t remember. What Karna knows is that he’s tired, has been tired for a long, long time. That may be why he stops and listens instead of turning a deaf ear.
Relationships: Bhanumati/Duryodhana (Mahabharata), Duryodhana/Karna (Mahabharatha)
Kudos: 38





	Variation

“You could stay.” Duryodhana stubbornly argues, and though there is no flush in his cheeks to give his anger away there is the fact that his eyes are over-bright, that his hands are clenched at his sides, that he is shaking. Like a tree in a gale: firmly rooted to the earth but fighting the demand to bend under pressure. Karna admires that about him, always has. “What does it matter if they send for you now, after all of this? When they had so many chances before and did not take them?”

“You speak like Shakuni does when the game does not go his way.” Karna points out, sounding more distracted than he really is. Duryodhana flinches subtly under the observation. His uncle has become a sore spot over the years and Karna cannot find blame in it.

Ideally, family would be the first to encourage and support one and their growth throughout life – not twist and manipulate words and truth until whatever good might be in a person is well and truly gone. But the world is not ideal (gods, sometimes Karna wishes that it was) and they must make do with what they are given (it will still hurt, yes, it always hurts but he is also so very tired).

“If there is a chance to improve our odds that does not involve war, I would be willing to entertain it.” Karna adds, and therein lies the root of his problem. He has no real love for the Pandavas, not beyond what nicety dictates when they meet in public, and he’s rather certain it is much the same for them as well. But the Queen Mother’s request is no small thing and he is at least obligated to address her in person now that she has called upon him.

“And what,” Duryodhana gripes, the old grudge resurfacing in the sourness of his features. “You would play courtier to them? Be Yudhisthira’s aide and fetch him scrolls when he holds court? Scrub pots for Bhima? Dally around Arjuna, or the Madras twins? If what she says is true then you would have every right as king – “

“I never wanted to be king.” Karna reminds him coolly, nipping that ramble in the bud before it can hurt his friend any further. Duryodhana loves him, fool that he is, and Karna knows it. But Duryodhana also spent his life being groomed to take on a kingdom; to be eldest, strongest, and most powerful: it would inevitably crack the foundation of his pride to bend the knee to anyone else and likely draw a rift between them. For all Yudhisthira’s deference in their shared childhood, for all his attempts at compassion and peace, Duryodhana had still not been satisfied even when his cousins where half a world away and safely in their own wondrous palace of Indraprastha.

A testament to Shakuni’s skill, really, that he could take a heart that could be selflessly generous as Duryodhana’s and turn it against his own kin to such a degree. (What sort of change could the king of Gandhara accomplished, if he’d ever used that persuasive skill for better ends? It did not bear thinking about, now.)

[If there was one way in which Bhishma and Shakuni were matched it was their stubbornness, the adherence to their vows. Satyavati and her daughters-in-law had long departed the world but Bhishma still took no wife, fathered no heir, and remained an ever-present shadow to Hastinapur’s throne; even if he paid its future king less mind than its current one, because co-dependence had set its roots in years before Dhritarashtra ever had need of a bride. Shakuni had not been able to protect the sister he loved, could not persuade her to abandon her vows, and in watching her suffer had determined that everyone else who shared a drop of Kuru blood must pay; that nothing else would suffice, even if it brought Gandhari only greater suffering.]

“What, then?” Duryodhana’s uneasy anger finally banked, turned into suspicion if not resigned acceptance that this will be an argument he cannot win. “You’ll go, and they’ll turn you against me?”

_As though that could ever happen_ , Karna nearly says but stops himself just in time. Stranger things had occurred, and his luck was perhaps just bad enough that if he gave voice to such a thought it might well come back and bite him when least expected.

“You already have me.” He points out instead and extends a hand, palm up, for his friend to take. “But I am also my own, as you are.” The flash of betrayal that darts across Duryodhana’s face draws an ache up from Karna’s chest, but he holds his ground. “I will meet with the Queen Mother, and her alone. Would you begrudge me that?”

“No.” Duryodhana finally relents, taking his hand and abruptly plops himself in most of Karna’s lap. He does not apologize when Karna grunts, both in surprise and rebuke. “She is our maa, even if it’s not by blood. I’ll hold no grudge if you go to see her.”

“Then it’s settled.” Karna shifts, but doesn’t complain. Duryodhana is heavy, but he is warm, and they’ve both grown used to their own children occasionally doing things like this. At least his friend does not gain a miraculous amount of weight when he settles, even if he is too tall and broad to comfortably lie in Karna’s lap.

* * *

The Queen Mother is undiminished when Karna goes to see her, secure in a makeshift garden that someone had taken great pains to care for. Her widow’s white gleams softly in the sun, but it throws shadows over her face, makes Kunti look tired until she smiles. Not at him, but at one of her grandchildren – a boy whose name Karna can’t remember right then. The lad nearly reaches Kunti’s shoulder and he is a dusty mess from playing some game, curly hair proudly hosting a respectable layer of dust from his running about.

He might be any of the Pandavas’ sons, but something in the way that he smiles reminds Karna of Sahadeva; as though this boy has managed to steal a bit of his father’s mercurial wit for himself even at such a young age. They both pause at the sight of him and Kunti’s smile falters, then gradually fades away.

Karna folds his hands and ducks his head, a weight pressing itself across his shoulders. It is not quite dread, but it is just uncomfortable enough that he can’t relax. Their surroundings are harmless, unless there is a gandharva lurking somewhere and ready to do mischief; the boy at her side barely old enough to be considered a man and unarmed besides. Kunti herself was unlikely to consider assassinating him directly, even if she did carry a weapon on her person.

“Queen Mother.” He recites genially, corners of his mouth briefly lifting. “Forgive me, I did not know you were entertaining company.”

“There is no harm done.” She answers, getting to her feet. To her grandson she smiles and it softens her face. “Go play with your brothers. Be good.”

The lad glances between them, inquisitive, but his grandmother’s word is law it seems. He scampers away on quick feet and Karna watches him go with a feeling of displaced fondness. His own children had such energy, and they had made games of running about the palace when they were that age. Vrishaketu still did, when he could safely get away with it; happy to leave a streak of chaos and confusion in his wake.

“He’s a lively child.” Karna ventures, tone light. “And fast as well.”

“He is.” Kunti agrees, turning towards him slowly and her hands fold before her almost like a shield. She considered him thoughtfully for a moment, something in her features tightening. Karna does not know what she sees, is certain that it is not dislike per say, but accepts that he likely cannot do anything about it. “I did not think you would come, Angaraj.”

“You are Queen Mother,” he reminds her quietly, moving to kneel at her feet. She does not let him get far – his fingers barely graze the air above her feet before she draws him up with but gentle hands.

“Still.” She says, and seems to restrain herself from saying anything else right then; releasing him once he stands. “We do not know each other well. If you had some grudge against me, I might have understood if you refused my letter.”

“I have no quarrel with you, only one of your sons.” Karna smiled thinly, without real humor, but it didn’t last. “But you sent for me, and with an interesting tale no less. So I came to hear the truth, as you requested.”

Her mouth tightens into a line and the look is a familiar one, somehow. They are not close, no; but he has seen her make that expression at her children and how it cowed them into compliance, or at least to mind themselves slightly better for a time.

“Come and sit, if you would.” She steps back and gestures towards the shade provided by a mango tree, Karna following her steps faithfully when she moves. “I am… afraid it will be a long tale.”

“I will listen.” Karna assures, sitting at her feet as though he were a child.

He listens as Kunti speaks and grows still under their mango tree as the shadows creep across the ground, little by little. When she is done he’s silent, no longer looking at her or anything else for that matter. He almost feels as though he’s floating away from his body, unable to coherently think and be anchored to the world as he processes.

In a way, it is not so very surprising. He’s always known that he is not of Adhiratha and Radha’s blood, no matter how much they love him, or how dearly he thinks of them in return.

“You want to ask something of me.” Karna guesses, lifting his head to look at Kunti’s face. He’s always thought each of her sons had something of her in their appearance, how they carry themselves. Now, he wonders if the same could be said of him and how anyone might have missed it for so long. If others knew and simply never mentioned it.

“I would ask that you be a part of our family and not fight against your brothers in this war.” Kunti’s hands ball up the cloth of her skirt, crumpling her pallu. “Resent me for it, if you must. But if it is to be war, I want my children to live.”

_You might have said something sooner_ , he wants to point out, angrily at first and then he is only tired when that wave of heat passes. _At any point, you could have said something and I might have listened and we would not be this way._

Then, _I might have laid my head on your knee and promised to do as you said, had that been the case._

“And your sons?” He feels the need to ask, if only to clear the air. “Do they desire war?”

Duryodhana was willing to go so far, just to spite his cousins. Bhishma disapproved, but he would follow the decision of Hastinapur’s king no matter where it led, even when he ought to be wise enough to know how bloody an end it would all be. Dhritarashtra bent to whatever demand his eldest child made of him and Shakuni would delight in them all killing each other, be more than glad to finish off more than a few of them all himself. Perhaps if Gandhari spoke against it, then Duryodhana might be delayed, but not for very long.

The Yadavas followed Krishna and so far Dwarka’s king had refused to take sides, but that could easily change; particularly if it were Arjuna who asked it of him, and if Yudhisthira asked Arjuna to reach out in the first place. Dhrishtadyumna and Shikandi would avenge their sister Panchali on principle, even if she did not ask it of them, and the whole of Panchal would follow after them.

“My children want what is rightfully theirs.” Kunti tells him somberly, hands no longer clenched but folded in her lap. She looked every bit the wise, formidable queen he’d admired as a youthful boy, the one he wanted to impress with his archery by shooting lotuses from a pond so that they would fall at her feet. The memory has a new dimension to it now, and it hurts a little.

If she had seen him then, would she have known him immediately?

(It might not have mattered, considering Adhiratha’s frantic want to get him away from the scene at the time, but still.)

“Indraprastha.” Karna echoed, mouth pulling into a frown. “And its territories. I will be honest with you, Maa, the palace has likely fallen into disrepair in your family’s absence. Duryodhana rules from Hastinapur, and he is loath to consider any other throne comparable.”

“Be that as it may,” Kunti hums, “it is our home and he denies us the right to return to it. My daughter-in-law wishes to have her children back, and walk with them in her home. Thirteen years is an unkind amount of time to be separated from one’s family.” She added in a clipped tone that brought a smile to Karna’s face.

“I agree.” Lowering his head, he tried to sort through his thoughts. They flowed over him like a river’s tributaries, branching out in too many directions for one set of feet to follow. He’d sworn his loyalty to Duryodhana years ago and held that promise close, had delivered his friend kingdoms and treasures alike whenever asked just to prove it. Kunti, responsible for his birth or no, had made a request of him and whatever misgivings he had about her choice to give him up needed to be put aside.

It weighed on him, solidified the feeling that had come upon him when he’d first arrived: that this was no chance meeting and there would be no pleasant answers waiting ahead. Even stranger, it felt familiar – the whole exchange less shocking than it should have been, all things considered.

(He’d been blessed from birth with divine protection, not clairvoyance, but now it felt as though they had done this before and he’d heard much the same words from Kunti in the past; though it should have been impossible. But whatever might have happened then, in those other times, was that life’s burden to bear. He is tired and cannot say why, only that this seems to be more a formality than anything else.)

“Vrishali often remarked that she had wanted to speak with you, in Indraprastha.” Karna ventured slowly, not looking up. “Supriya heard tales of the palace and thought it curious. She found it a shame that we were not so close to one another that a visit might be received well.”

Kunti said nothing but the air around her seemed lighter, as though she were surprised.

“I’ve ten sons myself,” Karna continued, studying how the boughs above them made dappled shadows on the ground. “And they still have more energy than I might corral alone. Anga is somewhat remote, and they do not have many friends.”

Anga’s closest neighbors were also Adyoha and Panchal, neither of which had any children close enough to his own sons’ ages for a friendship to be fostered; even if he held Panchal in dislike on a personal level.

“My grandchildren are rambunctious, as you have already glimpsed yourself.” Kunti finally spoke, picking her words carefully. Like one trying not to hope and be hurt in doing so. “They have spent their formative years with my nephew’s family, the Yadavas. Gleefully anonymous as a hoard, no doubt.” There was a smile in her voice and Karna thought it held some wistfulness as well. “But they can be well-behaved. They would welcome more friends, I have no doubt, if they were introduced to yours.”

“Your daughter-in-law hates me.” Karna pointed out, looking up at her. “As do at least one of your children, with reason. _Good_ reason, if the distinction must be made. Say I agree and join you in family, if nothing else. Would you really call my wives you daughters-in-law as well, or Draupadi be capable of seeing them as sisters-in-law? Could I trust the Pandavas with my children and not come back from some errand to find them all dead in their beds, out of spite?”

The Yadavas were largely a relaxed group of clans, but when they grew angry there were traits they had in common. Famous Balarama glowered like a thunderstorm when his temper was pressed upon, and merry Krishna had a way of cutting his eyes to the side, his smile turning into a blade before it bled the recipient dry; and Karna had seen for himself how frightful Subhadra could be when pushed to the brink, her eyes prone to flashing and her smirk as sure as a death sentence to whomever witnessed it.

Kunti’s features smoothed out and her gaze darkened like the clouds over Kailash, lips thinning into a cold line. Perhaps once, in her youth, she might have been prone to rage – to the cataclysmic anger that could spur legions into action, which her family was nearly as famous as the Raghu for. Karna wouldn’t have been surprised, even if all the tales spoken of her were only of diligence, seemingly endless patience, and shrewdness no one thought to credit her for in the moment.

“My sons would never commit such a deed, Angaraj.” Ruthlessly polite, but oh yes he’d made her angry; her tone had the finality of a god’s proclamation. “Nor would I let them, if the point must be addressed. Your wives I would gladly welcome as my daughters, and they have always been courteous to me. I would love your children as my own, as I do my grandchildren, and if Draupadi could never find it in herself to forgive you – at least they might be spared her dislike.”

He laughed, soft and hoarse and just a little boyish. It was unexpected, but he delighted in it, that she had soundly put him in his place and would do so again in a heartbeat. If he hadn’t already admired her then this exchange would have sealed it, made it ironclad in his love for honesty above all else.

“I won’t ask you to forgive me. That would be too much.” He smiled and she did not, but that was fine. He’d made his decision, for better or worse. “Let me meet them, if they are here. These sons of yours that you would make my brothers in truth. We can tell them together: Yudhisthira, Bhima, Arjuna, and the twins. If they’ll have me, we shall see for ourselves if this bid will work.”

Kunti’s brows furrowed and she frowned, now regarding him with some faint concern. He’d surprised her, perhaps. Or she hadn’t expected him to agree so quickly. “You are so sure, Angaraj? I had thought you hated them, that you would never see eye-to-eye with them.” But she pushed herself up to stand and Karna beat her to it, taking her hands in his and pressing his forehead against the rise of her knuckles.

“I am a little over a century old, my Queen.” He told her once he’d let her go. “My sons are grown men already, with one soon to be grown as well. Most have wives, children of their own. Vrishali and Supriya prefer me home, rather than on the field. I may love Duryodhana with everything that I have and call mine, but if I am called into a war then it will be my last.”

Her hands curled as though she might reach out for him as he’d done for her, but Kunti restrained herself. “You speak about it as though there were no other possibility. Were you prophesied to die in battle, and never spoke of it?”

Bless her, truly; her concern was real.

“Not quite.” Karna mused, smiling resignedly. “Just a probability. Now, let us meet your sons. Let’s see if they can think of me as someone besides their enemy.”

“A moment.” Kunti planted herself in his way and he blinked at her, confused. “There is one thing I would do, before we go.”

“And that is?” He asked, willing to listen.

In another life, perhaps, she might have slapped him. Some part of him was certain that she could have, even in this current life, had she so desired. Struck him for all the cruel words he’d spoken about her family, for his lack of action in righting Duryodhana’s wrongs – for any number of things. And she would have been in the right on most, if not all accounts.

Instead her fingers caught his ear and the earring fused to his skin, pulling him down with such force that he stumbled and fought for balance. The pull burned, sent a line of fire along his neck and shoulder and Karna grimaced from the pain; catching himself unsteadily before he could fall on her.

“No son of mine will ever speak the words you delivered to Draupadi that day.” Kunti’s voice, low and coldly furious, echoed above his head with absolute authority. “You will apologize, and you will mean it, before anything else. You shamed the woman who raised you that day, and every day since, when you let your tongue run off without any sense beyond pettiness. Just as you shamed me, though you never knew it.”

Karna laughed, breathless and haphazard as he winced. “Be sure, I will do as you say. Rest assured, I have no interest in taking her as a wife.”

“That is for her to decide.” Kunti let him go and he slowly managed to straighten himself up, rubbing at the twinge in his neck with one hand. “But now we understand one another, I hope?”

“Yes, Maa.” He answered faithfully, amused despite himself.

* * *

“I have no interest in the Elephant Throne.” Karna points out before Yudhisthira can bring it up, or anyone else take it into their heads that he would reach for more than what he already has. Draupadi does not ease up her glare and his cheek continues to throb where he’d weathered her strike, announcing itself every time he speaks. “Or in Indraprastha. If I can make Duryodhana listen, your home is hardly something I could take from you.”

All of them but Kunti keep staring at him like he is some kind of creature previously unknown to the world – crawled up from the depths of the earth perhaps, or fallen from the sky.

“And if he doesn’t listen?” Bhima grouses. “You might love the oaf but we don’t. He has no intention of giving back what’s ours while he’s still alive.”

It would be a hard argument, most likely. Karna acknowledged that, but didn’t shrink from it.

“I can still try. If he does not listen to me, perhaps his lady wife can impress upon him exactly how much of a fool he’s being.” He said it lightly, but the words were tempered by respect. Bhanumati held a sliver more power than he himself did when it came to Duryodhana, and only Gandhari might hold more. Between the three of them, with Kunti, they might have a speck of a chance.

If he could suss out Ashwatthama from his wanderings, or whatever asharam Drona’s son had taken residence in, then it would be a surer victory. Duryodhana loved his mother, and he loved Kunti, and he showed them every respect that he gave to no one else; that others showed before the gods. Bhanumati could ask him for the flowers and bejeweled wonders of Indraloka itself and Duryodhana would find some way to deliver them to her, odds be damned. Karna himself had been given a kingdom on a whim and only been asked for friendship in return.

Ashwatthama wanted nothing to do with courtly life, and had shaken off the yoke of Panchal being halved and part given to his father before the mantle of Crown Prince could be settled on his shoulders, but he was the one who could argue Duryodhana into submission if necessary; if Shakuni’s hand or Dushanna’s wasn’t at play in things.

Or he’d upbraid Duryodhana so badly that the sky turned pink in embarrassment and would sit on their mutual friend until Duryodhana’s stubborn anger finally burned itself out. Karna had acknowledged this as a possibility as well, but kept it to himself. It served as an entertaining thought if nothing else.

“And what,” Sahadeva began thoughtfully, “do you get from this?”

“It can hardly be affection, when you stand to lose what you already have by joining us.” Nakula finished for his twin, the similarity of their voices briefly throwing Karna off.

They were eerie, the Madras twins, yet when compared to their brothers both Nakula and Sahadeva had so far regarded him with less outright hostility. Not quite what Karna had expected, but given the circumstances he would accept it.

“My sons need friends.” Karna shrugged. “And my wives prefer me at home in Anga than on a battlefield. They never agreed with what Duryodhana did that day, or that I stood by and let it happen. If justice were to be done, they would be your staunchest supporters. If I’m allowed my life and to keep their company, then I will be satisfied.”

“You are…” Yudhisthira frowned and for a moment Karna thought he might attempt to convince him to take Hastinapur’s throne again, since he was _eldest_. “Rather accepting, of all this.”

“I’m an old man and likely to die before any of you.” Karna told him simply, mouth quirking. “I’ll take what time I have left and attempt to be wise with it, thought that is not one of my strongest qualities.”

Sahadeva made a sound that might have been a chuckle or a poorly concealed cough, trading glances with Nakula that only they understood.

* * *

“You’ve betrayed me then.” Duryodhana surmised once Karna finished talking, his tone far calmer than it should be. A part of him dreaded that it was Shakuni’s doing, but it was too early to tell. Then Duryodhana’s features twist and Karna thought there might be some hope after all. “You should have let me come with you, fool. Whatever spell they’ve cast, I could have made you keep your senses.”

“There is no spell.” Karna tells him, and it was true. “And I have my senses. I would have liked it you came with me, however. You would have heard everything for yourself.”

And likely suffered for it, true – but it would have saved them this.

“So what is it?” His friend’s nostrils flared and Duryodhana scowled, planting himself already and settling in for a fight. “What great charity have my cousins asked of you, to turn you against me? Must I listen, then come to you at your pujas and request your presence as a counter-boon? Is that their game?”

“Duryodhana.” Just his name, spoken softly, and a furrow appears between his friend’s browns. “Please.”

He’s given Duryodhana everything, over the years. Everything that was his own to give or attainable by his own power. All that, and only now does he ask for anything in return.

Perhaps that’s what stops the building tempest growing behind that scowl, or perhaps this will be the stony silence before he’s told to get out or be put to death for treachery.

“Give them Indraprastha.” Karna says quietly. “Their home and their lands and status. Their children. You never wanted it, not really, and you have no reason to hold onto it. Yudhisthira has no interest in Hastinapur, nor does the former Empress. It would be yours still, and Lakshman’s once you were gone. Your mother would still have her temple, and your brothers would still run through these halls. Bhanumati would be happier, perhaps, and the two of you might be mended.”

It was a risk, mentioning such a thing. Since the dice game Duryodhana and Bhanumati had been somewhat estranged: she’d barred him from her rooms after hearing of what had been done to Draupadi before all the court, refused to be in his presence for months and took her meals alone.

Lakshman, their son, had tried to mend the bond between his parents but ultimately had failed. Duryodhana was wistful without his wife, and Karna knew Bhanumati had wept herself ill for a time. That she’d sent letters addressed to Draupadi herself, along with supplies; items meant for women and women alone. Whether or not Draupadi had accepted them Karna wasn’t able to guess, but he’d kept the secret all the same. They’d eventually come together again, but the gulf between them remained. Bhanumati no longer played chausar, though it had been her favorite game when she’d come to Hastinapur, and she would not stay in any room where the game might be played.

“And you?” Duryodhana’s eyes had narrowed, but he hadn’t lashed out yet. “What did they promise you, to have your compliance?”

“Nothing, really.” Karna replied, slowly reaching for Duryodhana’s hands. His friend pulled them away, scowling deeper, and Karna tried again; catching them gently in his own. “Kunti asked that her sons not be made to fight one another. That I join their family so that she may not have to watch her children die. I accepted so that my sons and wives wouldn’t be put in the middle, not because I love the Pandavas.”

“But you did accept.” Duryodhana points out in a clipped tone. “And now we are to be enemies.”

Karna felt his heart sink a little, his grasp on Duryodhana’s hands briefly tightening.

“I don’t want to be your enemy.” He said simply, honestly. “Would it be so terrible, truly, if you gave them back what was taken in the dice game?”

“You supported me then.” Duryodhana tried to pull his hands back, grunting in annoyance when Karna’s hold tightened further. “Was that a lie as well? Or did you change your mind?” This time he tugged with some of his actual strength and Karna had to brace himself so that he didn’t accidentally let go.

“I was angry. Petty.” Karna admitted. “And I was in the wrong. It should not have been done, I know, but it was and none of us can take it back. But it doesn’t have to be war, and if you want nothing more to do with me after this then I’ll understand.”

“You’ll _understand_.” Duryodhana spat, suddenly livid, and this time he managed to shake Karna off. “As though I could trust anything that came out of your mouth after this. After you choose people you’ve hated for years over me – “

“Then kill me.” Karna deadpanned, and that brought Duryodhana to a halt in the middle of his tirade, his friend’s mouth falling open in surprise. It was a ridiculous look for him, but there was no humor to be had at the moment. Lifting his chin he continued, “Kill me yourself, and save us both the trouble of facing each other on the battlefield. I’ll get rid of my armor first, if you would prefer it so.”

Every kshatriya carried a knife somewhere on their person for self-defense. Such things were usually confiscated when entering another’s home, but Duryodhana had always trusted him with his, that if Karna ever drew steel it wouldn’t be directed at anyone he loved. Now he reached for the pommel and offered it, features smooth and free of emotion.

“It will be the cleanest chance you have.” He pointed out as Duryodhana stared at him.

“You can’t be serious.” Duryodhana didn’t look at the knife but he’d grown a touch pale. “You aren’t.”

“I am.”

“Vasusena – “

“Kill me yourself.” Karna repeated, cutting off Duryodhana’s protest. “If you are certain we are to be enemies. I’d rather it be you than anyone else, even if you hate me after this. Better than an arrow, for certain.”

It twinged like an old injury around his throat, a perfect circle all the way around that he couldn’t place. Nowhere in his memory could he recall getting hurt there, but the discomfort remained. Perhaps that was how he’d died in another life, at someone’s hand. It seemed likely, and the words held a certain weight that could only be truth.

“I don’t want to be your enemy, Duryodhana.” Karna let the knife dangle between them. “But if that is the only path you can see, so be it.”

“You’re a fool.” Bitterness twisted Duryodhana’s voice, his features hardening.

“I know.”


End file.
